


You're an idiot. An idiot in love.

by Reslly



Series: Crystal City Oneshots [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Awkward Seborga, Crystal City Series, Fluff, Mentioned Gerita - Freeform, Mentioned Spamano, Multi, Oneshot, Poor Romeo, Romeo Romeo where art thou back up shirt, Sebwy Date, Sweats are awesome, Unless you mean sweating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 15:03:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6157466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reslly/pseuds/Reslly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Romeo Vargas and you wish you had worn a second undershirt. Perhaps choosing the table in the way back where the air conditioning was almost non-existent had not been the brightest idea your excuse for intelligence could conjure up. In fact, if the dark forest green button-up you threw on and had dampened with sweat could speak, it would tell you to thank every deity you learned about in your sixth grade world cultures class that you picked a seat with very dim lighting. Don’t worry button up, you already sent that prayer of thanks up ten minutes ago when you had first discovered how horribly the white t-shirt you wore underneath it’s green companion had done its job. Maybe it wasn’t too late to shoot one of your brothers a text and test whether or not they love their younger brother enough to save his sorry hide from a very embarrassing date featuring you and your sweat-soaked shirt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're an idiot. An idiot in love.

Your name is Romeo Vargas and you wish you had worn a second undershirt. Perhaps choosing the table in the way back where the air conditioning was almost non-existent had not been the brightest idea your excuse for intelligence could conjure up. In fact, if the dark forest green button-up you threw on and had dampened with sweat could speak, it would tell you to thank every deity you learned about in your sixth grade world cultures class that you picked a seat with very dim lighting. Don’t worry button up, you already sent that prayer of thanks up ten minutes ago when you had first discovered how horribly the white t-shirt you wore underneath it’s green companion had done its job.  
Maybe it wasn’t too late to shoot one of your brothers a text and test whether or not they love their younger brother enough to save his sorry hide from a very embarrassing date featuring you and your sweat-soaked shirt. You pulled out the sleek black phone your grandfather had so graciously gifted you for your seventeenth birthday and stared at the few contacts that made up your pitifully empty address book (to be fair Oscar hadn’t had the chance to give you his number yet so you would have six if he didn’t keep forgetting) and mentally tried to solve the puzzle of which brother would most likely pass the ‘Do I love my brother Romeo enough to..’ test.  
On one hand, Feliciano was the most affectionate brother one could ask for, but despite his ever extensive love for his siblings-the poor pasta-loving idiot more likely than not was with the blonde German boy he had wrapped around his finger. Then there was Lovino, who would curse your name the second you sent him a text and interrupted his ‘very important business’, but nonetheless, would march his grumpy self anywhere to, at the very least, save you from your own fashion-related stupidity. Lovino it is.

YOU: Hey brother I love dearly and appreciate far more than I do Feli.

LOVINO VARGAS: You want something, don’t you?

YOU: What? Me? Can’t a fine young gentlemen like myself just take time out of my life to message my beloved older brother?

LOVINO VARGAS: I fucking knew it, you want something-might as well stop wasting my very important time and just spill it-AND IT BETTER BE FUCKING GOOD.

YOU: I sweat through my undershirt and according to the alarm on my phone I have about five minutes until my date arrives and the world as we know it ends because for once in his entire life Romeo Vargas isn’t the smoothest Italian in the world.

LOVINO VARGAS: You better be glad I have a full hour before I have to meet the stupid Spanish bastard at the movies. You’re at grandpa’s, right?

YOU: Where else..?

LOVINO VARGAS: I will block your contact and leave you to embarrass yourself so fucking help me.

YOU: Alright! Alright, geez…

 

You leaned back in the oddly comfortable wooden chair. As aforementioned, you are at your grandfather’s restaurant-the one and only ‘’, and, as also previously stated-where else would you be? You’d have to be as stupid as Michael credits you for being to ask a girl on a date to some high-class restaurant where you didn’t even get a family discount (yes your grandfather still charges you, but a bargain’s a bargain, right?). At least here you got as much as half off the meals and all the confidence-boosting charm of being somewhere you were practically (and by practically you mean you spent half your childhood here) raised. Then again,who needs confidence-boosting charm? Certainly not you ya’ lady killer…..who are you kidding? You sweat through your shirt and your date hasn’t even arrived yet. You’re hopeless.  
That tight knot currently residing where last time you checked your stomach should be is reminiscent to that panic you get everytime you waltz into class only to find out that there’s a test that day and the only studying you did was studying the latest episode of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, not that you would ever admit that to anyone but yourself.  
You glance at the half empty glass of water in front of you-your third glass. The first five minutes after you had sat down were spent religiously sipping water like you had been wandering the Sahara desert for weeks, most likely in a tragic accident that involved you being an idiot and getting separated from the group and ultimately sweet sanctuary-and Feliciano wonders why you never go on fieldtrips. You had slowed down on your water intake after the fifth time the waiter asked whether or not you were okay (For the record you shot him a dirty glare, rolled your eyes in a fashion that would make Feliks tear up in pride, and set the glass of water so far away from you that you had to stand up to get it when you actually needed a drink). That’s fine, no problem, not like you were using it to distract you or anything. Alright you were.  
The long winded sigh you let out earned you a few worried glances. How long did you have again? Negative seven minutes. Lovely. And no Romano in sight-you’d bet five bucks Antonio called him distracting your faithful brother because he’s a lovesick sap. Then again, who are you to talk? You crossed your arms on the table like you were going to rest your head on them only to miss the table entirely. Life loves you today. That’s okay, just a minor setback-you’re just fine sitting here with your head underneath the table while you contemplate how much you wish were as smooth as you claimed to be. You could still feel those lingering glances but found you couldn’t care less whether people were ogling your oddly hunched over figure. In fact, you half wish mother nature would conveniently put you out of your misery here and now-maybe a fallen tree branch? Yeah, that’s sure to happen in the middle of bustling urban city where the last tree you saw was at the park. Nice to know your brain is still functioning - Not.  
“Life hates me…” You muttered it aloud, as if it wasn’t enough for that one thought to be echoing around in your head. Maybe someone would hear it and do mother nature a favor by putting you out themselves. Spare the whole world just one big f-  
“I can second that motion.” The sudden, yet all too familiar voice was enough to startle you out of your self-pity to the point that you attempted to sit up-key word being attempted-so fast that your head (which was contently resting awkwardly underneath the tabletop) smacked against the wooden underside of said table top. The hiss that spawned from your throat sounded like that of a cat that was tossed in boiling water. Hatred plus pain equals-oh look you’re embarrassing yourself in front of your newly arrived date. Wonderful.  
You straightened up, finally taking the time for your kelly green eyes to get a blissful glimpse of your date. Wendy Wilson. God, you swear if you had any literary skills whatsoever you would attempt to write a poem about her-only to find that she’s so gorgeous that you can’t even put it into words. Even now, with her hair in a lazy ponytail and dressed for a Sunday stroll through the woods-you couldn’t find a single adjective to define how beautiful she is. Sure, maybe an oversized hot pink t-shirt and a pair of baggy gray sweats aren’t the best attire for a reasonably high class Italian restaurant-but who cares? Although you are curious why she’s-according to your trusty phone’s alarm-fifteen minutes late and looks like she had just got finished running through the town hiking trail. She was out of breath, smiling despite using her knees to support her.  
You swallowed the lump in your throat. Had she forgotten and ran here after finally remembering? Your heart contracted painfully at that thought. Although, you highly doubted that was the case. Oh God, you’ve been staring too long-you have to say something before you make an even bigger fool out of yourself. “Nice sweats.” Wow. You decided to open your mouth and that was the first thing that came out. Oh how tempting it is to mentally screech every colorful swear word Romano ever taught you-and you would’ve given into temptation if your date hadn’t just started laughing. Not giggling, not laughing sarcastically like she typically does when you act like an idiot-you mean laughing. You couldn’t help the grin that etched it’s way onto your features, especially when her captivating honey eyes rolled back in mirth and you had to double check that your heart was still beating.  
Her laughter stopped all too soon for your liking (yes you’re fairly positive Wendy noticed the pouting puppy dog expression you took on-she’d have to be blind not to) and she took a seat in the upholstered chair across from you. She crossed her arms and gave you the unamused look you’d been expecting when you (stupidly) blurted the first thing on your mind and you could imagine that underneath the table her foot was tapping impatiently like she was expecting an explanation. Crap, you’d messed up again-didn’t you? Dang’t. “What’d I do…?” If your tone wasn’t so genuinely innocent you would be seconds away from a slap upside the head and a ‘Don’t you dare get smart when this is as far as buckley’s back yard from the time to be sarcastic’.  
But, since your pure idiocy saved you from a beration-what you got instead was a roll of the eyes and a signature huff that meant you’re in for a lecture. Too late for that slap upside the head? Yep. “Ya’ know, I thought after living here your whole life you would learn the difference between Angel’s Park and Angelo’s Park.” Why was she lecturing you on the park? What did this have anything to-oh. Oh. Oh God.  
You let your head smack against the table this time, it was the least you deserved. You tuned out the amused cackling sourcing from your companion and tuned in on the radio station in your brain promptly titled ‘God you’re an oblivious idiot, aren’t ya’?’. Maybe you’re as stupid as this day has proved-or maybe this small fact just slipped your mind. Remember your grandfather’s restaurant, the one you’re sitting at right now wishing God would still put you out of you misery? IT just so happens to have the same name as the town’s park. Angel’s Park. Indiscernible noises spilled from your mouth in an attempt to simultaneously berate yourself and apologize at the same time. And there was that laughter, once again dragging you out of the pits of self-pity to stare in bewilderment at the short brunette across from you.  
“God you’re a dork, you know that?” She pretended to wipe a tear from her eye and picked up your glass of water, taking a long sip from it. “I ran here from the park and I’m famished so you better hurry up and order the best pasta here-for two.” Okay, maybe you were an idiot, and maybe you suck at planning-well-anything, but if the one thing you can do is make the little freshman in front of you laugh until her side hurt then, you’re happy with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome my lovelies to the first installment of the Crystal City oneshots series. This is my first post on archive of our own and I'm looking forward to posting much more on here. As always, comments are much appreciated. Feel free to leave anything from recommendations to requests even.


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